


Let’s keep this party polite (never get out of my sight)

by saltstreets



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Action movie bullet rules, Alternate Universe, M/M, Minor Character Death, Minor Violence, Organized Crime
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:09:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23420725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltstreets/pseuds/saltstreets
Summary: As if the day hadn’t already been difficult enough, when Edward got out of the car he noticed immediately that the warehouse door was being guarded by Solomon Tozer.
Relationships: Lt Edward Little/Sgt Solomon Tozer
Comments: 13
Kudos: 39
Collections: The Terror Bingo (2019)





	Let’s keep this party polite (never get out of my sight)

**Author's Note:**

> For my ‘organised crime AU’ bingo square...still trying to slide some fills in under the wire! feat. a concept I treasure greatly, ‘Hickey tells Tozer to seduce Little for The Cause’. I’ve currently got two different canon-era WIPs based on that theme, and somehow this silly little thing got done before either of them. It was a fun one to write and not take too seriously. C:
> 
> Set in vaguely-the-20s but actually just the aesthetics because hhrrnnnh 20s mobster Tozer with a Tommy gun  
> I’m sure you will agree with my logic there.
> 
>   
> _Lets keep this party polite  
>  Never get out of my sight  
> Stick with me baby, I'm the guy that you came in with  
> Luck be a lady tonight  
> _

As if the day hadn’t already been difficult enough, when Edward got out of the car he noticed immediately that the warehouse door was being guarded by Solomon Tozer.

Shame and outrage vied for attention in the pit of his stomach, inflamed by the fact that he could see Hartnell giving him a sideways glance out of the corner of his eye. Christ, did everyone know? With his luck, it only figured. Sometimes it seemed as if nobody Edward worked with ever had anything better to do than gossip all day long.

Nothing for it, though: he’d already colossally fucked up once in this whole sorry business, he could be a professional about this now at least. Couldn’t he. _Couldn’t he._ Edward squared his shoulders and approached.

“Tozer,” he greeted, as coolly as he could muster.

“Edward,” Tozer muttered. He nodded at Hartnell. “Tom. He’s inside. Look- I know you’re both armed, and I’ve not been told to take anything off you, but consider the circumstances and don’t do anything stupid, yeah?”

“Thank you for the sage advice, I’m sure,” Edward said. “Any other words of wisdom?” He felt slightly gratified by the fact that Tozer wasn’t quite bringing himself to meet Edward’s eye. He motioned to Hartnell. “Come on.”

“Wait, Edward-” Tozer reached out an arm, as though to bar Edward from stepping towards the door. Or to wrap around his waist and draw him in- _shut up,_ Edward snapped at himself. Even his own consciousness was embarrassing. Awful. Was nothing sacred.

He glared at Tozer. “This had better be directly related to information I need before going in that door. If not, I don’t care to hear it.”

To his right Hartnell had instinctively tensed when Tozer’s arm had shot out. Now he glanced between them, cautious.

Tozer held Edward’s gaze for a moment and appeared to be teetering on the fence of something. Then he drooped, and looked away. “Never mind.”

He stepped back and opened the door. Edward marched through, Hartnell close behind. He was well and truly annoyed now, at Tozer and at himself and at the whole damned mess. He took a deep breath. Crozier was relying on him now, it was no time to let personal feelings get in the way of their purpose here.

The warehouse yawned before them, large and almost entirely empty. Dusty sunlight spilled from the glazed glass windows that ran around the outer walls high above their heads and the tread of their footfalls echoed faintly around the open room.

In typical dramatic fashion, Cornelius Hickey was sitting on a makeshift throne of stacked crates, surrounded by his men -Crozier’s men by rights, Edward thought, indignant- wreathed in wooden boxes that sprawled around and above him, a little further back than in the centre of the open warehouse floor.

A soft click behind them. Tozer had followed inside and closed the door.

“Mr. Little,” Hickey called out, his false, cheerful voice ringing around the space, striking off the metal beams in the ceiling and rattling the cheap windowpanes. “Good of you to come. I take it this means Crozier is accepting my offer?”

“Calling it an offer implies that this is an honest business transaction,” Edward replied, striding forward. Small clouds of grit and dust swirled away with every footstep. This place had been a workshop, involved in the shipbuilding trade in some way or another before being repurposed for simple storage. Now it had been unused for a long time.

Very grandiose of Hickey, making them walk all the way to him like some petty king receiving supplicants, but the approach also gave Edward more of a chance to take stock of the situation before Hickey would be able to see precisely where he was looking.

The very far end of the warehouse was dominated by two enormous black iron furnaces. Long cold now, but still present and quietly menacing with their oval hatches into which coal had once been shovelled to heat the workshop. Near the furnaces a metal-runged ladder was bolted to the wall, providing access to a service catwalk that ran all around the open hall. Edward was familiar with the building: it had belonged to Crozier for years despite being so often empty.

Hickey was flanked by Armitage on one side, Des Voeux and Manson on the other. A glance upwards revealed a few additional men on the catwalk. Plenty of firepower was on full display, and Hodgson was present as well, stood slightly behind Des Voeux. He looked away when Edward caught his eye, his round face flushed. If they all got out of this and he ever got the chance, Edward was going to give that man a good shake. George had always been a bit odd, but he was a good sort. A good man. What he was doing throwing his lot in with Hickey, Edward couldn’t say, especially after what had happened to Irving.

But then again, he’d thought Tozer to be a good man as well, and look where that had got him.

He set the thought firmly aside. There would be time to wallow in self pity and self recrimination later. In the here and now, there was still Hickey to deal with.

“Is it not an honest business transaction?” Hickey was saying, all innocence. Edward deeply disliked the man, the sly tilt of his head as though he was posing some great philosophical question.

“Theft, assault, and kidnapping? No, I’d say it isn’t. But it is simple. You’ve stolen from Crozier, he wants it back. Let’s not complicate matters.”

“Oh, but also let’s not pretend that I’ve perpetrated some terrible crime on you all, seeing as the goods were smuggled in the first place.” Hickey was smiling. Edward and Hartnell had come to a stop a decent few paces away from the foot of the pile of crates upon which he was lounging, leaving a healthy distance between them. Just in case. Edward could sense the tension in Hartnell at his side, although the kid remained steady. He was glad that Hartnell had been chosen as the second in this affair. Crozier would have come to deal with Hickey himself if he’d had his way, but that plan had been vetoed, primarily by means of both Fitzjames and Blanky immediately wheeling on him with twin expressions of murder at the suggestion.

(“As head of this organisation, I should be taking responsibility,” Crozier had said, stubbornly.

“Oh, taking responsibility, yes, by _being responsible_ and not going to treat with a megalomaniac,” Fitzjames had snapped back, and in the end had gotten his way as he frequently did.)

So Edward was glad of Hartnell. He could be relied upon in a pinch and to keep a cool head.

And he made an interesting contrast to Hickey’s men, Edward noted. Hodgson looked frankly miserable, and also didn’t appear to be armed at all. Perhaps Hickey didn’t entirely trust him not to turn tail, or turn coat. But then why bring him here at all? A show of power, maybe, to boast having swept away not only a few of the men on the ground, but one of Crozier’s own lieutenants as well.

Hodgson wasn’t the only one showing signs of concern. Armitage kept glancing just behind Edward, presumably to where Tozer was still lurking with quiet menace. Armitage seemed to be watching Tozer for cues more than he was Hickey, and on Hickey’s other side Des Voeux just looked plain jumpy, gripping his shotgun with a tension that set alarm bells ringing in Edward’s head. After so many years in this line of work, he was more than familiar with the signs of a nervy trigger finger. Funny, Des Voeux had always been more or less reliable in that department. But it all painted of picture of Hickey not having the absolute control over his little gang of mutineers that he surely wanted to project.

“Crozier didn’t send me out here to debate morality with you, Hickey.” Edward scowled. “He sent me to get our supplies and our man back.” That was the final thing that Edward had noticed, and it was one that worried him most. Goodsir was nowhere to be seen. They didn’t even know if the man was still alive. “I’m also to tell you this: Crozier’s willing to let you walk away. We pay you the full asking price now, get what we want in return. And you skip town, never come back or anywhere near our port again, and we leave you and yours alone. He will, however, welcome any other man back into the fold who so chooses to return.” Edward punctuated the last with a pointed look at Hodgson, who cringed.

“And I suppose this is what Crozier calls a generous offer.”

“Very generous,” said Edward icily, “considering it allows you to walk away with all your internal organs as they ought to be: internal.”

“A threat, Mr. Little? I almost thought you incapable of making one.” Hickey seemed unperturbed. Edward scrutinised him carefully.

“He has tells, if you know how to look for them,” Jopson had told him before he had left. “He’ll act to the last, never a concern in the world until the bullets actually start flying. Don’t let him get under your skin.” Edward had never put Jopson down as an expert in the psychology of the individual, but there were many things he hadn’t expected from Jopson until recently, seeing him as so many did as little more than a glorified accountant. Just another misjudgement. He really was on a losing streak lately.

As if to remind him of just how bad said streak was, Tozer coughed behind him. “Fifteen minutes, Cornelius.”

Edward decidedly did _not_ flinch at the sound of his voice, and _absolutely_ not at the use of Hickey’s first name. _Stupid, stupid, stupid._

Hickey nodded. “Magnus,” he said, careless, and gestured.

Edward tracked Manson almost without blinking as the man walked back behind the stack of crates. His hand itched. He would be able to draw his sidearm almost instantly, but what good would it do with these odds? Not to mention with Tozer behind him, Thompson gun easy in his hands. Would Tozer shoot him? He couldn’t count out the possibility. And to think that not too long ago they had-

Manson re-emerged from behind the crates. He wasn’t alone.

“Goodsir,” Hartnell said softly, relief obvious in his voice. Edward also felt a weight lift from his shoulders. After Irving, none of them had known what Hickey might or might not do. Seeing Goodsir alive, if looking rather worse for wear, made a tremendous difference to Edward’s stress level.

He really did look terrible, though. There were dark circles under his eyes and a nasty yellowing bruise across one side of his jaw.

“You alright, Doctor Goodsir?” Hartnell called out.

“As alright as can be expected,” said Goodsir. He was bound, wrists cuffed in front of him and he walked carefully as Manson shuffled him to stand in front of the crates.

Edward exchanged a glance with Hartnell before nodding. “Alright. And we have the money as you asked. It’s locked in the trunk of the car out front. I’m going to reach into my pocket for the key- nothing else.” He did so. Slowly. He still didn’t like the way Des Voeux was holding his gun, as though expecting something to leap out at him. “You can send one of your men out to see that it’s all there.”

“And then I’m expected to pack up and leave, am I? That’s what Crozier is telling me to do?”

“He’s also telling you that if you don’t, it will come down to war. Don’t make a mistake here, Hickey,” Edward warned. “We’re offering a good deal. Take it and walk away.”

“And what if I don’t want to?” Hickey’s eyes glittered. “You’re operating under the assumption that I don’t want war, just as _you_ don’t want war. That I’ll leap at the chance to duck out now.”

“Ten minutes,” Tozer said quietly.

“Ah. This has taken longer than expected.” Hickey frowned, but shrugged. He got to his feet and stood up on the crate. “It doesn’t matter. There’s something I’ve neglected to tell you, Mr. Little. I made a few telephone calls earlier today. To some mutual acquaintances. And so, in about ten minutes that door-” he jabbed an imperious finger at the way they had come in- “will open to admit a few of our friends from across town. I’m sure you know which ones I mean.”

Edward _did_ know. Cold shock cracked open over his head like an egg. Surely Hickey couldn’t mean it. This had to be a bluff.

 _“What,”_ The growl over his shoulder was low and furious as Tozer stepped forward. Edward could see a combination of anger and fear on his face. “the _fuck_ did you do.”

Hickey waved a hand airily. “Nothing you need to worry about.”

“Nothing I need to worry about!” Tozer was shouting now. He had lowered his gun and his fists were clenched. “Cornelius. You can’t possibly be serious.”

“And yet somehow I am,” Hickey said coldly. “I let slip that some of Crozier’s best men, not to mention a large quantity of his best stock from the Goldner’s contract, would be finding themselves in an extraordinarily vulnerable position, here, in- oh, about eight minutes.”

Tozer looked at his watch and paled. “Seven and a half.”

“Seven and a half.” Hickey was practically purring. “So you see, Mr. Little, you aren’t the negotiator. You’re the negotiation. I don’t really care about the money, and I don’t care about your peace. I care about seeing Crozier ruined, and I care about a new alliance with some new friends.” He patted the side of one of the crates towering around him. “This merchandise will simply make for a nice gift of goodwill.”

Edward’s entire frame had gone rigid, his mind bouncing contingency plans all over his skull. They couldn’t flee, Hickey would shoot them down. But if they were still here in a few minutes- it was incredible, what Hickey had done. The sheer folly of it.

“Sir.” Hartnell spoke quietly out of the corner of his mouth. “I’ll be able to get Doctor Goodsir behind the crates to safety when we need to. If you can take care of yourself.”

Edward nodded briefly, staying quiet although Hickey was gazing at the door with an expression of strange, near-rapture and wasn’t paying attention to them.

Beside him, Tozer was as white as a sheet. That more than anything alarmed Edward. Hickey must have dreamt this scheme up all on his own, without involving his- well, Edward supposed Tozer functioned as second-in-command of this cabal.

“Cornelius, we have to get out of here.” Tozer was almost begging, urgent. “We have no defensible position, and we’re not ready for a large-scale firefight. We’ll be cut down the second they come through that door.”

“We’re not here to fight. We’re here to bargain.” Hickey sounded annoyed.

“Do you really- for fuck’s sake. _Please._ Listen. You are not an independent operator, not to these men. You’re one of Crozier’s lackeys and after everything with Irving they _will not care to ask questions._ ” Tozer glanced at his watch again and narrowed his eyes. When he spoke again there was no more pleading in his tone. It was all command. He had been one of Crozier’s most effective enforcers, once. “Tommy- shift some of those crates to make a barricade and get behind them. Des Voeux, Magnus, help him. Make sure you can crouch behind them but still fire over the top. Two rows deep at least if you can, this wood won’t do much against bullets but it’s better than being in the open. Edward.” Tozer turned to him. “You know these buildings better than any of us. Are there any other ways out?”

Several of the older buildings by the docks were notorious for having only one exit. Presumably they had been so designed to hinder theft and better monitor the men who would come and go, but it also made them firetraps and was primarily the reason why they no longer functioned as workshops, and were relegated to mere storage.

But as a matter of fact there was another exit: behind the ancient furnaces at the back there was a door that lead to a small, attached coal house, and from there it was only a small service hatch with a rusted padlock and an admittedly unpleasant crawl through a coal chute to freedom. Hickey wouldn’t have been aware of this loophole, but Edward was. He had never actually used it, but in theory it was easy enough.

“Any moment now,” Hickey sang out.

Edward had always liked Tozer’s eyes. They were warm. Tozer was easy with affection and showed everything on his face. When he was happy, sad, angry- he looked afraid, now.

“Yes,” Edward said, “there’s-”

Which of course was when the door blasted in, and ten- fifteen men in identical white suits spilled in. All armed, all with the same blank white mask. That was what unsettled Edward the most about the men who worked for the Bear. The masks.

There was a heartbeat of silence. The Bear’s men stood in a row against the end of the warehouse: another group might have seemed to be ducks in a shooting gallery, all lined up. These men looked like a firing squad.

“Gentlemen.” Hickey was still standing amidst the tower of crates, arms spread. “I’ve been looking forward to speaking with you.”

The Bear’s men opened fire.

Edward saw two bullets rip into Hickey’s torso with crystal clarity, and for a moment he saw the look of surprised confusion on the man’s face- before instinct seized frantic control of his body. He flung himself for the crates, tucking himself low and rolling. He was vaguely aware of movement around him, someone was screaming something but the bellow of gunfire from both sides drowned it out. He managed to get behind the stack, his back to it as blood thrummed in his ears. Wooden splinters exploded about him as the assault tore through the crates and for a dizzy, hysterical moment he thought of the pirate stories he had read as a boy, of naval battles and cannon fire.

He dared a glance around the edge of the crates, and fired two shots off at the attackers. He couldn’t even remember drawing his gun.

Asides from their alarming tendency to splinter violently, the crates did make a decent position to fire from. Armitage had managed to pull a few out to form a low barrier stretching out from the bulk of the stack and Edward mumbled a prayer of thanks that his knee-jerk obedience to Tozer telling him to do something was still in effect.

“Behind you.” A grunt, and Edward twisted to see Hartnell scooting closer from the other side of the mountain of cargo. Goodsir was with him, looking terrified. A dark stain of blood could be seen swelling across Hartnell’s shirt beneath his jacket.

“Stomach?” said Edward, alarmed.

Hartnell shook his head tightly. “Side. Just got clipped, it looks worse than it is. Not even by one of the bloody Bears. Fucking- Des Voeux. Idiot panicked and hit me when the shooting started.”

“We should get him out of here to bandage this. Quickly.” Goodsir fluttered his bound hands across Hartnell’s side. “I mean, asides from that obviously being the point.”

“Yeah, I’d like that too,” Hartnell groaned, and flinched as another crate blew to pieces from the top of the pile above their heads.

The gunfire had, however, ceased it’s full force against the stack. It was off to the side now. The men on the catwalk, Edward supposed. He could hear shouting, and screaming from men hit. Who knew how long they had before the Bears refocused their attention on whoever might still live behind the stack.

He steeled himself. “Get to the coal room. Break the lock and go up through the chute. Tom, you know where it is, I’ll cover you.”

There was a sudden concentrated rattle of bullets to the left, a shout and a clear shotgun blast, and Tozer tumbled over the low wall of crates set up by Armitage to sprawl, panting, next to Edward. The Tommy gun was slung around his front and he clutched what seemed to be Des Voeux’s gun.

“Tozer!”

“Well spotted,” Tozer gasped, out of breath, and pressed something into Edward’s hand. “Here.”

A small ring of keys. Tozer nodded towards Goodsir, still handcuffed. “Armitage had ‘em. Go on.” He shifted smoothly into a crouch and popped up from over the wall of crates to fire before ducking down again and dropping the empty shotgun to swing his own weapon back into readiness. He looked almost at ease, and Edward was reminded that Tozer had been a marine once. In the war. Where had he fought- Gallipoli? There was something about that. Tozer kept those particular cards close to his chest but he had let slip, once, about the slaughter.

A click and Goodsir was free. He rubbed his wrists and immediately peeled back Hartnell’s jacket to scrutinise the damage.

“No time- go!” Edward very near shouted, giving them a push. There was still yelling from the catwalk, and though the firing had returned to their barricade with the appearance of Tozer, it was still divided.

“To the furnace,” Hartnell said, and grunted as Goodsir heaved him upright. “Fuck fuck fuck-”

Their hobbling progress was noticed. Edward fired at the white mask that had turned towards their retreating backs, and a blossom of blood flowered across a white-clothed shoulder. Tozer popped out beside him, adding his fire into the fray until Hartnell and Goodsir had vanished behind the reassuring bulk of the furnace.

“So there is another way out!”

“There is.” He reloaded, fingers steady, and cursed himself for not bringing more extra ammunition. There had always been the possibility of a shoot-out, but never of this magnitude.

He glanced at Tozer and paused before firing again over the crates. There was blood on the his shirt and on his face. “Have you been hit?”

“Grazed,” Tozer shouted over the gleeful chatter of his Thompson. “Not the face- that was just a splinter. Though it nearly took my fucking eye out. We should move, those boys in the rafters won’t occupy the bastards for much longer.”

The easy use of the plural pronoun wasn’t lost on Edward, even in the middle of a firefight. It was probably an indication that he needed to re-examine some of his priorities. He made a quick sweep of the warehouse through a space between crates. Despite the initial advantage, a fair few of the bodies sprawled across the ground were white-suited ones, not so pristine in the blood and grit. If they ran now they had a chance.

The habit of responsibility forced him to ask, even if he was certain he already knew the answer: “Hodgson? And the others who were in front?”

“Dead,” said Tozer shortly, his face pinched. “When you go I’ll cover you. But I don’t have much left, here.”

“We’ll go together. Watch my back.”

“Edward,” Tozer said in a normal tone, as if he didn’t need to pause to duck as a bullet whizzed visibly past his ear before springing back up and sending the return message with vicious alacrity, “can we talk?”

“Right _now_?!” So maybe Edward’s priorities were doing alright, in comparison. “While we’re being shot at?”

“It’s- just in case we- I want to apologise.”

Possibly the least appropriate time for Edward’s idiot heart to _flutter_ was in the middle of a shoot-out, so of course that was what it chose to do. “You- what?”

Tozer squeezed off a round, yelling over the noise. “I fucked up, alright! I know that!” A howl and a white-suited figure went down.

“Well I don’t forgive you!” Edward barked back. “So let’s get out of here and you can try again!”

There was a yelp from above, and the body of Pilkington toppled almost too-slowly over the metal rail of the catwalk to crunch sickeningly against the ground. There was a breathless gasp of silence, and the final man above -Edward thought it might be Hoar- dropped his gun and tried to flee. To where Edward couldn’t say: the walk ended in the ladder, which only lead down to where the Bear’s men waited. A roar of concentrated fire turned on him in force, and Edward and Tozer bolted.

Without having to look Edward knew that Tozer would be moving low, gun tucked against his shoulder and eyes narrowed in concentration to fire back even as they fled towards the furnaces. Tozer had always been good under fire. A reliable leader, but content to take orders. It had been one of the reasons Edward had trusted him and ultimately believed him when Tozer had expressed a more personal interest. Tozer had never been conniving. He didn’t have the personality for it. Just one more entry in Edward’s long list of rotten luck, that when Tozer _had_ decided to get manipulative, it had been Edward on the receiving end.

Embarrassingly, it was a surprise when the bullet hit him. It struck him like a red-hot poker in the back of the leg and ludicrously, Edward actually spoke the words “I beg your pardon” aloud in dumb confusion as he went sprawling to the ground, the knees of his trousers protesting against the rough stone floor.

_“Edward!”_

There was another brutal strike of pain in his shoulder, and then he was being grabbed by the collar and hauled forward. He was flung unceremoniously behind the furnace and he yelled in agony as his leg jolted. He had dropped his gun: Tozer snatched it from the ground and fired twice, three times before seizing Edward again and shoving him into the open coal house, pulling the door shut behind them. There was no lock, and in any case there wouldn’t have been one on the inside, but the handle was simple metal loop through which Tozer shoved the stock of his Thompson, creating a makeshift latch. Eyes wide he spun back around. “Now what?! Are you alright? Where are you hit- this is just a room! Where do we go!”

Slightly confusing but Edward managed to parse the more important questions. “Coal chute- in the corner.” Fucking _hell,_ he hadn’t been shot in a long time. His leg jittered, the muscle protesting against the vicious intrusion. “Can you help me?”

“What do you think I’ve been doing!” Tozer darted over to sling Edward’s arm over his shoulder and hobble him over to the open hatch. The broken lock lay in three pieces on the ground in front of it, and Edward was satisfied that Hartnell and Goodsir had at least gotten out. And had then hopefully not run into any more men that may have been lurking outside. “Give me your gun. Go first. Hurry.”

“I’m trying,” Edward grunted. He handed Tozer his pistol without second thought and suppressed a sob of frustration and pain as he bent to crawl into the narrow aperture. He started coughing immediately: the warehouse may have been long empty, and the furnaces even longer cold, but the chute was still coated with a fine layer of coal dust. Tozer squeezed in behind him, urging him forward. He hadn’t gone very far before he heard a loud clang: someone had presumably run up against the door Tozer had barred.

“It won’t hold them long,” Tozer ground out. “C’mon. Nearly there.”

Edward breathed in as deeply as he could with the coal dust coating the air and lifted his head with determination. And then felt his heart stop as his nose came right up against a sharp upwards incline.

Damn. Of course. Why would a coal chute be a steady ramp the whole way? He could have wept. Sunlight was even filtering down from the opening above, but Edward would never manage it with his leg and shoulder. Goodsir and Hartnell seemed to have been successful, but they had had much more time to negotiate the space.

“What’s wrong? Keep going!” The clattering from the coal room door was increasing.

“It’s too steep, I won’t make it.” Cold pooled in Edward’s stomach. It was far too narrow here for Tozer to squeeze past him: they would die here. “God, Tozer, I’m sorry-”

Something hit him in the head and Edward flinched so hard he cracked his elbow against the side of the chute, vibrating pain lancing through his arm. “Fuck!”

The missile slithered down his shoulder. Soft. A- rope?

“It’s a rope,” said Edward stupidly.

“Yes, it’s a rope!” A voice echoed slightly down to them and Edward snapped his head up to see the face of Tom Hartnell, pale but grinning widely. “Are you going to let me haul you up, sir? Or are you enjoying yourself down there?”

“Always bits of rope ‘round the docks, if you know where to look,” said Hartnell simply as they emerged into the blissfully coal-free air. “I only got up in the first place with Doctor Goodsir’s help, and we figured you might need a bit of a hand.”

“Much obliged,” said Edward, and nearly collapsed right away again, his leg now refusing to do anything he told it to. Tozer caught him, concern writ large across his face. “We have to keeping moving and quick. They’ll be sending men ‘round to check for where the chute opens up any minute now.”

Hartnell nodded. His jacket had been ripped into a few large strips and wrapped tightly around his torso, and though his motions were slow they seemed steady. “Taken care of. We can’t go back to the car, there are men outside the door. But there’s a place I know we can tuck ourselves away until things calm down.”

The place Hartnell knew turned out to be one of the customs houses along the docks with a broken cellar window. The latch swung open when Hartnell pushed on it and they all squeezed through. Tozer went first and helped Edward ease down. “Alright, you sit down. Now.”

“Keep quiet,” Hartnell murmured, following. “Usually a few ambitious clerks working at all hours up there. We should be able to sit tight for a bit though.”

That sounded just fine to Edward. He lowered himself to the ground gingerly and leaned against the wall. He mumbled assent when Goodsir approached cautiously, and let the doctor carefully poke at his leg and shoulder before bandaging him as best he could.

“There’s an exit wound in your shoulder that looks promising,” Goodsir said cheerfully, his fingers nimble with the tie that he had fashioned into a tourniquet around Edward’s calf. “Though of course I’ll want to check for shattered bone. Your leg I can’t do much with for the moment, but it seems to have missed the major arteries, so you can count yourself very lucky there. Small calibre bullet from the looks of it as well.”

Lucky. Edward blinked. He hadn’t been _lucky_ in far too long. It would have been far more in keeping with his recent run for the one bullet to dive directly into the artery in his thigh, and for the other to complete the process by nestling into his spine. Perhaps his losing streak had finally broken. It had to be considered.

He murmured his thanks to Goodsir and let his eyes slide shut. Adrenaline had long taken its leave of him, and he felt bone-tired.

A light cough.

Edward dragged open his eyelids to see Tozer standing in front of him. There was a mean-looking red bite taken out of the top of his cheek just under his eye, presumably the splinter mentioned earlier, and he was covered in black coal dust but otherwise seemed none the worse for wear. “So.” He shuffled awkwardly.

“Oh, just sit down,” Edward sighed. Tozer did, settling in against the wall. Edward squinted at him. “What is it.”

“You mentioned letting me try again,” said Tozer with a slimmer of a smile. “At apologising, I mean.” He had two slightly squashed-looking cigarettes in his hand, and offered one to Edward.

Had he? It was all a bit of a blur. Edward rubbed at his forehead, likely just smearing coal about. He supposed Tozer _had_ said something about being sorry, and he _had_ told him to save it for later.

Oh, what the hell. Obviously it stung, that he had been so surprised and pleased with Tozer’s attentions, and had thought to find something of a kindred spirit in the other man. Someone steady and comforting, and that someone had turned out to have only been interested in using him. But it wasn’t as if Edward was a stranger to getting burned, and he was too tired to hold a grudge at the moment. Maybe later.

“It’s fine,” he said wearily, and accepted one of the cigarettes. He fumbled in his pocket for a match. “You just helped me out of a rather tight corner, so consider the apology accepted. Don’t worry about it.”

“I said I _wanted_ to talk,” Tozer said, lighting up as well and breathing in a lungful of smoke. “Look- I don’t like leaving things unsettled.”

Edward glanced across the room to where Goodsir and Hartnell were engaged in examining Hartnell’s gunshot wound, all the while very obviously pretending they had gone temporarily deaf. Ah well. It wasn’t as if everyone in the whole damned organisation didn’t already know that Tozer had been involved with Edward, very shortly before having him knocked unconscious and making off with all of Crozier’s shipping manifests and the key to the munitions storeroom.

“I already know Hickey put you up to- to- getting close to me.” Edward couldn’t help the flush running up his neck at the thought of just _how_ Tozer had chosen to carry out that particular order, but he did determinedly ignore it. The back room of the safe house, a bottle of whiskey stolen from behind the bar that served as a front. Tozer had been bold as brass. Edward had let him be bold. “You don’t have to give me the whole confession.”

“I didn’t mean for it to go so far,” Tozer admitted, stumbling over his words as much as Edward had. “Or at least, I didn’t mean to- never, never thought- I like you, actually. That wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“Oh? What _was_ supposed to happen, then?” Edward snapped. Maybe he did have the energy for a grudge after all.

“I know it’s a bit shit of me to say.” Tozer shifted, folding and unfolding his arms before finally tucking them close to his sides, hunkered down. “I’m sorry about that as well. But it was- I was already stuck in too deep with Hickey, and his plan- although I didn’t know what he was up to, honest. I thought he just wanted to strike out on his own, and I was unhappy, and thought yeah, why not, fuck Crozier and fuck this. You can’t tell me you also weren’t dissatisfied with the way things were going there for a while.”

That was true enough. Before Crozier had sobered up Edward had spent more than one sleepless night wondering despairingly what he could do to stop the inevitable crash they were all headed for.

“I did consider what to do when things changed. Honest. I thought about telling you and letting you go to Crozier, but then everything with Irving- and things started moving so fast. And Hickey…” Tozer trailed off and looked away. “I am sorry.”

Edward did believe him. It had all been obvious to everyone that Hickey was the dubious mastermind behind the rebellion. The events of the day had only cemented it. Theft and kidnapping, in the name of getting out from under Crozier’s thumb, the terribly ill-conceived bargain with the Bear: no, it was as Edward had thought before. Tozer could be selfish and sly perhaps, but he didn’t _plot._ Particularly not in the name of simply sowing chaos.

Whether that would save him remained to be seen. “I suppose Crozier will decide what to do with you. He did say he would take back any of you men who went along with Hickey. One-time forgiveness. With Hickey out of the picture I don’t know if that still stands, but you could try. If you wanted.”

The cigarette between Tozer’s fingers was burning low. “I do want. Yeah, very much so.”

Edward hesitated, wobbling between two choices. He had made a few snap decisions in recent days that had wound up awfully wrong. But hadn’t he just considered that his losing streak might have ended? In any case it helped nothing not to go one way or the other. And Tozer really had been unquestionably on his side in the warehouse. “You helped, here. I wouldn’t have gotten out without you. So I could also put in a good word for you.”

“You would do that?” Tozer looked up quickly.

Edward shrugged. “I won’t withhold it just because of what happened between us personally. I’m angry, don’t get that wrong, I’m really fucking furious, but I’m not spiteful.” Tozer had been a good man. He could be a good man again. And Edward could be professional about it. Or in any case, he could professionally avoid Tozer. It would help that he was likely to be on backroom duty for a few weeks with his leg. He flicked away the smouldering stub of his cigarette with a bit more vitriol than strictly necessary.

“Thank you.” Tozer turned to face him, and laid a hand over Edward’s. “I do want to make it right. I want to make it right with you in particular.”

Edward stared at the hand nonplussed before slowly drawing his own away. “I won’t do it so you can feel obligated to me, Tozer. I would be lying if I pretended all was sunshine and roses but for God’s sake. I’m not about to make you continue with the whole charade.”

Tozer seemed taken aback. “What?”

“I’m not a child. I’ll get over it.” _Over_ _you._

“Wait. Stop. Before you go any further. Do you- what you’ve taken away from this conversation is that I don’t- want you? The entire _point_ of this is that I want you. And that I feel like an idiot, but.” Tozer waved a hand, frustrated. He squinted. “Was that not obvious?”

“Not quite as obvious as you seem to think,” Edward said faintly. Tozer _had_ said that he liked him, but that could have meant anything. They had always gotten along, after all.

“That I regret having ruined my chance with you by being a sodding bastard?”

“It could have been made clearer, yes.” Edward’s head spun like a roulette wheel. He didn’t even know what colour he had bet on. A few hours ago he would have assumed it to be whichever one didn’t come up, but that was a few hours ago. His luck was changing.

“Oh,” said Tozer, and then had the audacity -the _audacity!_ He was barely even forgiven!- to wink at Edward. “Well. I can think of a few ways of achieving that.”

“We have an _audience,”_ Edward hissed, colouring furiously, although Hartnell and Goodsir had graduated from pretending to ignore them to actually ignoring them. Hartnell had extracted a deck of cards from God-knew-where and seemed to be trouncing Goodsir in some variety of poker. At the very least the pile of gravel in front of him was much larger than the pile in front of Goodsir, which Edward could only interpret as a sign of victory.

“I don’t mean right now, keep your hair on. Later. If you’ll let me.” Tozer reached out to take Edward’s hand and this time Edward allowed it. “I’d like you to let me.”

Damn the man. His eyes were still very warm, and even if they both looked a fright and Edward was still in a considerable amount of pain from having been shot, _twice,_ Tozer was appealing.

“If Crozier allows you a stay of execution,” Edward said slowly, “and it’s a big _if,_ because frankly you were a real traitorous misery, Solomon, but _if_ he gives you a second chance, you can take me to dinner. And I do mean you’ll be paying.”

A slow smile spread across Tozer’s face until the man was practically glowing.

“What?” Surely it wasn’t that much a cause for celebration.

“You used my name _._ You hadn’t used my name since, well, since everything.” The smile took on a knowing edge, but it was still far too genuinely pleased for Edward to take offence. “That’s all the second chance I need.”

Tozer had been using nothing _but_ Edward’s first name. He had taken it for a gibe at their former familiarity. Now he wondered if it hadn’t been something quite different.

“Don’t push your luck,” Edward warned, but had to bite down on a smile of his own. For the first time in a while, he thought he might be about to go on a roll.


End file.
